Chasing the Night Life
by The Friendly Shipper
Summary: Team Free Will stumbles across a town full of monsters, angels, doppelgangers, flamboyant radio show hosts, douchey scientists, and one very ominous glow cloud. Amidst their confusion, they discover that several citizens of the town had a history with the Winchesters' father, and they're out for revenge.
1. Demonstration

"You can't do this," the man hissed in Dean's ear, his warm breath tickling Dean's neck and sending chills down his spine. "I'll kill you."

"Not if I get to you first, bitch," Dean growled in response.

The man laughed. It was a warm, golden laugh, not at all what Dean would have expected from a monster. "You're tied to a chair, _señor_," he snapped, "You're not going anywhere."

The man reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out an old fob watch, silver and tarnished. "Oh," he said calmly, "It's nearly time."

"For what?"

He looked at Dean with a grin, a devilish gleam in his golden-brown eyes. "The ritual," he whispered, enunciating carefully. He was clearly enjoying himself. "You're the final guest at the feast, Mr. Winchester." He slowly pulled a silver pistol out of his pocket, making sure Dean could see every inch of it as it was revealed.

And, slowly, he pointed the gun straight between Dean's eyes.

"Please," said Dean, swallowing nervously, "Mr. Winchester was my father."

"Yes, we know all about John," the man replied, rolling his eyes, "He rolled into town in that hideous car of yours a few years back. I couldn't place where I had seen it until the _incident_ last night."

"Right, exactly." Dean jumped on the opportunity. "You knew my father, but listen, uh, amigo… I'm not him. Neither is my brother, Sam. We're different. You don't have to do this."

"I'm not your _amigo_," the man hissed.

"Well, what am I supposed to call you?"

"Call me?" The man squinted at Dean, a slight smirk spreading across his features. Dean saw his finger tighten slightly on the trigger. "You can call me Carlos."

He pulled the trigger.


	2. Mission Statement

_Six days earlier_

"Hey Sam," Dean said as the younger Winchester entered their motel room bearing food. "Have you ever heard of a little place called Night Vale?"

"No," Sam replied, shrugging off his coat. It had been a cold October, even in New Mexico. Why?"

"Dad mentioned it in his journal, but most of it is pretty confusing. I'm only getting a few bits and pieces of info. It seems like he was in a hurry. What about…" Dean squinted at the page. "Desert Bluffs? I think it was a neighboring town, if this even is a town we're talking about."

"Nope." Sam plunked down in the chair opposite Dean and flipped open the newspaper, scanning the headlines for a case.

"Well there's a picture of some dude here." Dean pulled the black-and-white photograph out of the journal and held it up to the light. "Lab coat, douchey hair…. and it looks old, Sam. It looks really old. But that can't be right. Dad only worked this case about seven years ago, right before he disappeared."

Sam shrugged, eyes trained on his paper. "He probably picked it up on the case."

"No." Dean shook his head, shoving the picture right in Sam's face. "Sam, Dad is _in_ the picture. He's right behind Bill Nye, pouring something out of a beaker. God, he's all decked up in science-y shit."

"Huh." Sam took the picture, frowning. "So what does it say about the case?"

"Well," answered Dean, picking up the old journal, "It doesn't say much, just some scribbled words here and there. Doppelgangers, rivalry, scientists, uh… Radon Canyon? Okay, here's something: he said there was a 'giant glowing cloud that rained armadillos and lizards' and he said something about a school board."

"What?" Sam stood up and crossed the room to where Dean was seated, peering over his shoulder. "What the hell…. okay wait, what's that?"

Dean read aloud, "Citizens act as if it's all normal. Most are creatures, some are human. No one enters or leaves except for Carlos. Like nothing I've encountered before. Instincts are telling me to run."

"Huh," said Sam again. "So?"

Dean looked up at Sam. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Sam, exasperated, "How do we get there?"

_Two hours later_

"This is frickin' pointless," exclaimed Dean, putting the Impala in park and throwing his hands up in defeat. "We're never gonna find this place. It's like it doesn't even exist."

Sam sighed and stepped out onto the sidewalk, buttoning his suit jacket neatly. Dean climbed out after him. "Listen, Dean," Sam explained calmly, "This is the only case we've seen in weeks, and we have exactly one lead to go on. Now, we know that scientist's name and the fact that he worked in this town. We only have two more labs to visit. After that, we can throw in the towel."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

The receptionist was pretty, but Dean barely threw her a glance. This whole case was perplexing, and he had a feeling it was about to get even more complicated. The woman led them down a dimly lit hallway to a doorless office.

"Ah, hello." A man in his late twenties was seated at the desk, intently focused on a meticulously filled-out spreadsheet. "May I help you?"

"Agents Young and Johnson, FBI." They presented their badges. The man hardly gave them a glance. "We're here to investigate a missing person. Did you ever work with a man named Carlos?"

The man looked surprised. Slowly, he stood up and came around the desk, leaning back on it and studying the boys. He was fairly short, but filled out. He had black hair that was slicked back messily, and his face was shadowed in unshaven hair. He did not look like a man who should be sitting behind a desk in a sweater and lab coat.

"No, he didn't work here," said that man slowly, "but I knew him."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "Did he look like this?" Sam pulled the photograph out and showed it to the man.

He nodded, swallowing.

"And how did you know him?"

"He, uh," the man stammered slightly, looking at the floor. "He was my boyfriend," he replied quietly, "One day he went out to the job site without me and he… he never came back."

"Job site?" Another glance.

"Yeah," the man looked up, finally meeting their gazes, "Oh, didn't you know? We were hired by a company to test the ground out in the middle of the desert, about thirty miles from town. They wanted to know if there was any possibility of digging a well or two out there. Of course, they had to shut down the whole operation after what happened to Carlos."

"Right," said Sam, "Would you mind telling us where that was?"

_Forty minutes later_

Dean pulled the Impala up to the abandoned job site in a cloud of dust and sand. He skidded to a halt and allowed the dust to settle before climbing out. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was low on the horizon. They had to hurry before it was dark. He would hate to be stuck out in the middle of the desert at night.

A chilly wind blew across his exposed neck as he climbed out of the car. He shivered, squinting across the hood of the car at Sam, who had a light purple scarf wrapped around his neck. His cheeks were pleasantly rosy, and he laughed at Dean's glare.

"Dude, that's frickin' gay." Dean scowled at him.

Sam laughed. "At least I'm not shivering, dumbass."

"Whatever. What do we got?"

They approached the job site warily. There wasn't much left over, but there was still a marking pole stuck straight into the ground by a deep hole. Several concrete blocks framed it, covered it seven years' worth of graffiti, no doubt from teens who had traversed out into the desert for a playful jaunt. No one would ever find their graffiti in No Man's Land.

The boys scoured the site for over half an hour, but they could find nothing of significance. "I say we call it quits," said Dean.

"What about Night Vale?" asked Sam. "Desert Bluffs? Doppelgangers? Glow Clouds? Creepy douche scientists? Doesn't that all seem worth investigating?"

"Man, I don't know." Dean leaned back again the hood of his car, folding his arms stiffly. "Maybe he was high, or drunk. It all seems a little too crazy and a little too obscure. Don't you think we would have heard _something_ about this place before now?"

"So what are you saying?" Sam leaned back next to Dean, their arms brushing slightly. Dean could feel Sam's body heat coming off of him in waves. "That it doesn't exist? That Dad was making it up?"

"No." Dean shook his head. "I'm saying he was wrong. Misinformed, or confused. He's not perfect, Sam, and I think this may have been a mistake." He walked around the car and opened his door. "Come on, let's head back."

Sam shook his head, but followed Dean around the side of the car. "At least let me drive for a bit. You look exhausted."

Dean agreed sleepily and climbed into the passenger's seat. He closed his eyes as he felt the car start up with a gentle rumble beneath him. He immediately began to drift into oblivion, until Sam woke him up with a shout.

"Holy shit!" Sam jumped out of the car, leaving it to idle. "Dean, you gotta get out of here _right now!_"

Dean threw open the door and climbed out, staring up at the sky with his mouth hanging open.

About thirty yards above their heads, a helicopter sped through the darkening sky. It was dark brown, painted with blood-red images of menacing birds. A rope ladder dangled out of the helicopter, and on it rode two identical men in black suits and sunglasses. One of them held a machine gun and the other held what looked like a giant dart gun.

"What the hell….?" Dean stared at the helicopter until it was almost out of sight. Then he realized: "Sam! What if that helicopter was from Night Vale?"

Sam stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "Get in the car!" he exclaimed suddenly, "We need to follow that chopper!"

Dean didn't have to be told twice. Sam put the car in drive and sped across the sand. The road had stopped at the job site, so they had to make their own path.

They lost the chopper after about ten minutes. "Dammit!" Sam threw the car in park and turned it off completely. "Now what?"

"You keep driving," said a low, raspy voice from the backseat.

The boys whirled around to see a familiar face. "Cas!" Dean exclaimed, "Man, it is so good to see you."

"Save it, Dean," Castiel said gruffly, leaning forward. "I'm here on business."

"What is it?" Sam asked, ever concerned.

"Angels," Cas replied, "Two of them went rogue a few years back, and we finally managed to track them. They have some pretty powerful warding spells up, so I don't have their exact coordinates, but I'm willing to bet they're in the same town you're looking for. I can guide you there."

Dean sighed and turned away from Cas, gazing out across the vast, dark desert. "Start her up, Sammy," he said, "We're going to Night Vale."


	3. Hypothesis

They drove all night, Sam and Dean taking turns behind the wheel while Cas told them where to go. He seemed to be able to sense it, which way to turn and where to go next. Around dawn, Cas suddenly shouted for Dean to stop.

"What, Cas? What is it?" Dean peered through the windshield, but all he could see was empty desert, stretching on for miles and miles.

"This is it," Castiel told him, "This is Night Vale."

"_This?"_ Dean asked. "Cas, there's nothing here."

"No, no." Cas opened the door and climbed out of the Impala, slamming the door behind him. Sam and Dean climbed out after him. "It's here," he insisted, "I can feel it." He put his hands up, as if studying the air in front of him.

"Hold on." Sam bent down and picked something up from the sand. "Guys, check this out."

He held up an old pocket watch. It was silver, and tarnished from being left in the sand for what must have been an eternity.

Dean took it and turned it over. "Cas?"

Castiel swallowed, then turned his deep blue eyes up to look at Dean. "It. Is. Here. That watch is proof."

"So… what?" Dean asked, "How do we get there? Or see it? Or whatever."

Cas closed his eyes. "You believe, Dean. It will reveal itself to you if you believe in it."

"What?!" Dean looked over at Sam. "No frickin' way. Are you listening to this?"

Sam shrugged. "It might be worth considering, Dean. This case isn't like one we've worked before."

Cas still had his eyes closed, and was humming meditatively, his head tilted up toward the starry sky. The headlights from the Impala lit up his whole face, casting shadows from his sharp cheekbones and making him look especially eerie.

Suddenly, Cas flickered and disappeared, like a dying image on a television screen.

"Cas?" Dean shouted, "Cas! Get back here, you nerd angel!"

"Dean," Sam whispered. Dean looked over to see that Sam also had his eyes closed and his head tilted back.

"Oh no," he groaned, "Not you, too!" And just like that, Sammy disappeared.

"Great," Dean grumbled. "I'm alone in the middle of the desert with an old pocket watch and a quarter tank of gas.

He returned to the driver's seat, where at least it was warm. Turning the watch over in his hands, he peered ahead at the empty desert. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll believe in this town. I will. Of course it's real. We have evidence. Dad was there, for one thing. And we know about Carlos the scientist, and we have this old pocket watch, which someone must have dropped here…"

He trailed off, staring down at the shining watch. Something was going on inside. There was a fast clicking and whirring noise. Carefully, Dean flipped open the watch.

On the clock face, the hands were spinning wildly. They were a blur of motion, going faster than should have been possibly. "What the hell…?"

Dean felt his car begin to shake beneath him. "Holy shit." He gripped the door handle as he felt the engine start up beneath him.

"Okay," he said. Then louder: "Okay!" he yelled to the night sky, shutting his eyes tightly. "Okay, I believe! I freaking believe in your stupid ghost town! I'm sorry I ever doubted you! Just… oh, for God's sake, don't hurt my baby!"

Abruptly, the shaking stopped and the engine quieted down. Dean slowly opened his eyes, straightening up in his seat.

He was on a smooth stretch of paved highway, maybe half a mile away from a small town. His car was in idle, and Dean could feel her revving to go. "It's okay, baby," he whispered, patting the steering wheel, "We're okay."

He looked down at the watch. Its hands had stopped spinning completely, and were now frozen at 10:38. It was around four in the morning.

Dean looked ahead, to where two solitary figures trudged along the road less than a hundred meters in front of him. He grinned and pulled the car up next to them. "You boys need a lift?"

Sam laughed and swatted Castiel on the shoulder. "See Cas? I told you he'd make it."

"I never doubted you for a second, Dean," Cas reassured him as he climbed into the backseat. "Sam called you a quitter."

"That was you, Cas."

"Oh, will you two quit bitchin'. Check out the view." He pointed out the window at a fading wooden sign that read, "Welcome to Night Vale."

"Here we are, boys," Dean said as the Impala rolled past the sign, "Time to find a couple of rogue angels and a missing scientist."


	4. Theory

_Eight Hours Later_

"Okay," said Dean, sipping on a mysterious blue smoothie that was surprisingly good, considering it was a smoothie. "We've been in this freaking town for eight hours, and what have we seen?"

"Ugh, I don't feel well," Sam groaned, pressing an ice pack to his forehead. They were seated at a table on the patio of a cute cafe right in the middle of town. The sun beat down and everything was hot and dry, despite the previous week's cold. People, normal-seeming humans, swarmed around them on their daily business.

"Yeah, well you were the one who went and got hit in the head by a frickin' baseball with wings. What the hell was that thing?"

"I think it was a pun. Something to do with bats. I've never been good at understanding human jokes."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam grunted.

"Dean, to answer your question," Cas said, "We have seen many things, most of which are completely unique and unlike anything we've seen before. To which are you referring?"

Dean stood up, setting down his smoothie angrily and beginning to pace. "A glowing cloud runs the school board," he stated. "Immortal boy scouts. A farmer with invisible corn. A house that people keep telling me doesn't exist. A dog park that no one can go in. A five-headed dragon is running for mayor. And where the freaking hell is the clock tower people keep mentioning?"

He stopped pacing and peered around at the crowd of relatively normal-looking people. "This is definitely what Dad was talking about. None of these people seem freaked out. They've grown up with this stuff. Everyone seems to be fine, no one's dying… so what's the problem? I mean, what are we even doing here?"

"Well," said Cas, standing off and brushing off his trenchcoat. "I have a couple angels to find. If you'll excuse me." He whisked away, leaving Dean to deal with an injured Sam.

"Great," Dean muttered. He was about to suggest they go back to the Impala and try to figure something out, when he heard a familiar name from the next table over.

"...Carlos called me again last night. I could practically _hear_ his beautiful hair, even over the telephone." The voice sighed, deep and rich with longing. "He told me he was going away to Desert Bluffs for a couple days to investigate the sandstorm from a couple weeks ago. Something about 'returning doppelgangers.' I'll admit, listeners, I was a little bit busy absorbing every wavelength of his beautiful, perfect voice, and I may have missed a few details…"

The voice was coming from a small portable radio. A group of middle-aged women was gathered around it, all knitting furiously as they listened to the radio announcer's warm, golden voice.

Dean stomped over to the table and jabbed a finger at the radio. "What the hell is that?" He asked accusingly.

"It - it's the radio show," one of the women replied nervously, "Why, is there something wrong?"

"You smell familiar," said a quiet voice from behind him. Dean whirled around to see a small old lady staring at him intently. "You're Winchester."

"What- uh- what?" Dean stammered, "No, well-"

"Don't lie to me," she hissed, glaring up at him through slitted eyes. "I know what you are. I'll tend to Sammy, you can continue your conversation." She turned toward Sam, who was staring at her with his wide, brown eyes.

Dean turned back toward the group of knitting women, stunned. "Who the hell was that?" he hissed.

"That was Old Woman Josie," one of the women muttered back, "She lives out by the car lot."

"Ooh, did you hear about the angels?" One of the other women squeaked.

"Shh, we're not supposed to know about them!"

"Angels?" Dean exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly. Several people turned to frown at him disapprovingly, while several others hurried quickly away, leaving their lunches behind. "What?" said Dean, "We can't talk about the angels?"

"Shut your mouth, boy," Old Woman Josie whispered from behind him, where she was tending to a nearly-unconscious Sam, "It's not safe out here." She cast several nervous glances over her shoulders to make sure no one was watching or listening. The knitting women were back to their radio show. "You boys will have to come with me if you want to get out of here alive."

"What do you mean?" Dean questioned.

"I mean," Josie replied, "That something's been hunting you this whole time, lurking in the shadows, and it's watching us."

"Right now?" Dean hissed, ducking down slightly, "Oh shit."

"Yeah," Josie snorted, helping Sam to his feet, "Oh shit."


	5. Sample Calculations

Josie bustled around the kitchen of her tiny trailer, humming while she mixed together an assortment of strange-looking ingredients, most of which Dean didn't recognize. Sam was draped on the kitchen table, which looked like it was about to buckle under his weight. He was pale and drenched in sweat.

"He's been poisoned," Josie explained while she worked. "Bat-ball venom. Causes hallucinations and flu-like symptoms. Don't worry, it takes a few weeks to kill, but the victim's in a hell of a lot of pain in the meantime."

Dean shifted uneasily. He was leaning against the doorframe, the top of which just barely brushed the top of his head. "But you'll be able to fix him, right?"

Josie cackled, throwing a match in the fireplace and watching as the wood flared up in bright purple flames. "Yes, dear, he'll be just fine. Now I assume you want to speak to your friend?"

Dean un-crossed his arms from his chest. "Friend?"

"Yes, dear. The one in the trenchcoat." She pushed him backwards, out of the kitchen. "He's in the bedroom. Go. I can't cure your brother with you hovering over me." She slammed the door.

Dean turned slowly, his eyes scanning the hallway. Faded carpeting covered the floors and the fossils of water stains remained on crumbling plaster walls. A single floor lamp stood at the opposite end of the hallway, next to a full-length mirror.

Dean studied himself in the mirror. He was dirty and sweaty, his face streaked with dust amidst a couple days' worth of stubble. His hair was messy and there were dark circles under his eyes. His freckles seemed to stand out even more than usual. "This damn case is stressing me out," he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes to wake himself up.

There were four doors in the hallway, two on either side of him. Before he had time to guess which one was the bedroom, the door on his immediate right was flung open.

"Dean!" exclaimed a gruff voice. "Thank goodness." Cas grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"What is it with you people and slamming doors?!" Dean exclaimed, pulling his sleeve out of Castiel's tight grip. "It's a trailer, not a damn hotel. This place could fall apart at any minute."

"Dean," repeated Cas, ignoring Dean's comment, "I need your help. There's something going on in this town."

"Ya think?"

"No," said Cas, "I mean, something's happening to _me._ My powers are draining. I haven't been able to teleport since I arrived at Josie's place, and my healing abilities are almost completely gone. Look." He pointed to a wide cut on his forehead, which was still leaking bright red blood. "It's not healing, Dean," Cas whispered. "I'm scared."

"My God, Cas." Dean stepped forward instinctually and cupped Cas' face in his hands, studying the cut. "What happened?"

"The other angels. They didn't like my presence here. One of them hit me with a frying pan." Cas was staring intently up at Dean, and Dean found himself ever so slightly distracted by the sparkling deep blue of the angel's eyes.

Dean realized his hands were still framing Cas' face, and their bodies were just barely pressed together. It was enough to make him flush and hastily step away.

"Dean!" The shout had come from out in the hallway.

"Sam!" Dean burst through the bedroom door and found himself standing before a panting and exhausted Sam. "What, what is it?" He wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and helped him back into the kitchen.

"Stop." Sam pushed away his older brother's arm and pointed to an old transistor radio sitting on the kitchen table. "Listen," he whispered.

"_In other news, the ritual sacrifice will occur in five days, exactly seven years since the last one. As we all know, the sacrifice occurs once every seven years as payment to the vague yet menacing government agency who keeps us safe and warm. Strex Corp. has recently filed a lawsuit against said government agency regarding ownership of the sacrifice, claiming that 'we've done more to help the citizens of Night Vale than you have in the past seven years, so it's our turn to reap the sacrifice.' Unfortunately for Strex Corp., the agency chose to remain vague yet menacing, and did not send a representative to resolve the case. The CEO of Strex Corp. was left shouting at the courtroom fountain and he has yet to emerge."_

"Just… listen to this radio show for a few minutes, Dean," Sam said quietly, taking a seat at the table. "I think it could explain a few things."

Dean crossed his arms and listened.

"_Carlos has returned earlier than expected, dear listeners. He brings with him the news from Desert Bluffs. We all know the story of the sandstorm and the doppelgangers it entailed. However Carlos, my brave, beautiful Carlos… he decided to go further and dig deeper into the story. _

"_He says the radio announcer in Desert Bluffs is named Kevin… and he looks just like me! Although I have to admit something, listeners: Carlos seemed a little shaken up over the phone. I hope he's alright. He says Kevin looks just like me, but different. Similar, but slightly off. His eyes are black wells of darkness, the eyes of a man who has seen too much, far before his time. The look of a man who has been to Hell and back. Blood-drenched clothing, knotted hair, ancient symbols carved into his flesh from a language long since extinct….._

"_Doesn't he just sound like a swell guy? I can't wait to meet him! In other news, Steve Carlsberg reportedly saw the two angels leave Old Woman Josie's house last night. He says they were in quite a hurry. Of course, we're not even supposed to know about the angels. We don't - we don't know about the - okay, you know what? You know what, Steve? You are a rotten human being. Spying on an old woman like that? Shame on you…"_

Josie switched off the radio. "Hey!" Sam exclaimed, "We were trying to listen!"

"Cecil will still be there tomorrow," she said, "It's bedtime."

"Cecil?" Sam asked as Josie ushered him onto the couch in her cramped living room.

"Cecil Palmer, the radio show host. He lives right here in town. Now shut up and get some rest."

Josie turned and saw Dean and Cas. "Ah…. well, I only have one spare bedroom, so one of you boys will have to take the floor."

There was a long silence before Dean finally sighed. "I'll camp out. Just get me a blanket or something." He followed Cas into the bedroom. The living room was too cluttered; there wasn't enough room on the floor for a whole person to lie down.

Dean lay on his back and listened to sound of Cas' breathing long after the lights were out. It was ragged and uneven, and Dean could tell Cas was still awake. All he could think about was how warm the bed must be, how soft, and Cas would be curled up, still in his trenchcoat, the cut on his forehead still red with blood-

"Dean?" Cas whispered out of the darkness.

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

"So you said."

"I don't know what this place is, but it's bad. These things, these creatures… and everyone acts as if it's normal. Not to mention that ritual sacrifice they were talking about doesn't sound too good. Dean, I think we should get out of here."

"I hear you Cas, I really do, but…" Dean licked his lips thoughtfully, trying to think of a good response. "Listen, we've never given up on a case before, and we're not about to start. People must be dying here, Cas, they have to be. Towns like this don't just _exist_ without some bad shit going down."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We're going to visit the radio station tomorrow, to find Cecil, and then pay a visit to Carlos. We'll see what we can dig up."

There was silence for several long moments. Finally, "Thank you, Dean. I- oh."

The last word was different, almost surprised. "Cas, what is it?"

"My cut, it opened up again, started bleeding. Oh, shit."

"Hold on." Dean stood up and made his way to the bed. He could see Castiel's outline, illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming in through the tiny window. He opened the top drawer of the bedside table, searching for a bandaid. "Bingo," he whispered, pulling out a whole box of them.

"What?" Cas asked.

Dean perched next to him on the edge of the bed. "Nothing, Cas. Turn your head." Dean carefully applied the bandage, smoothing down the edges and absent-mindedly running his thumb over Cas' forehead. His hand lingered on Castiel's forehead, gently brushing back the dark, messy hair.

"Dean?" Cas questioned softly, looking innocently up at him with wide eyes. "Is something wrong?"

Dean's eyes ran the length of Cas' body, tangled up in a single blanket, his coat hanging off one shoulder as he propped himself up on his elbows. Dean could see the outline of Cas' legs through the thin blanket, and they were spread apart slightly.

Dean swallowed, trying not to let himself get aroused, and quickly looked back to Cas' face. His lips were parted slightly, full and dry. They looked chapped, and suddenly Dean felt an overwhelming urge to run his tongue over them, to make them wet again.

"Uh…. no, Cas," Dean murmured finally, "Nothing's wrong. Everything's - everything's great."

He realized he was half lying down, his torso propped up on the bed next to Cas and his legs dangling off the edge. Their faces were less than six inches away.

"Dean," Cas said again, "Do you… I mean, it's kind of cold in here. If we combined both of our blankets, it would be warmer."

Dean gave him a startled, but not altogether unpleased, look. "Do you mean…?"

"I mean," said Cas softly, "Do you want to sleep with me?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as they stared at each other. Dean wasn't entirely sure how to respond to Castiel's forward remark.

"Oh." Cas blushed and looked down. "That's not what I meant. I just meant…. I meant sleeping."

"Ah." Dean let out a sigh of relief, although part of him was slightly disappointed. "Yeah. I'll grab the other blanket." He crossed the floor and spread the second blanket on top of Cas'. Cas had moved over to give Dean more room. It was a small, twin-sized bed, and Dean knew there would have to be a fair amount of human contact if they were to make it work.

He slid in next to Cas, and they lay there on their backs, their arms barely touching. Dean was faintly aware of the back of Cas' hand pressed against his. Finally, Dean could take it no longer.

"Listen Cas," he said, rolling onto his side. Now the entire length of his body was pressed against Castiel's. "I can't sleep if we're going to make this awkward. So what do you say we cuddle up and make ourselves comfortable, hmm?"

Cas kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. He was completely unmoving, his hands at his sides. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," he whispered gruffly.

Dean pulled back slightly. _Shit_, he thought, _I moved too fast. He doesn't want this._ He began to panic slightly, wondering how the hell he was going to get back out of this. "Why?"

"It's just…" Cas trailed off, then turned his head to look Dean straight in the eyes. "I won't be able to sleep if you're here, Dean."

Dean laughed quietly. "I think we can make it work. No pressure."

He felt Cas relax and shift slightly, moving closer so that they were once more pressed against each other. Cas was still lying on his back, with one hand resting on his midriff where the shirt was pulled up slightly, exposing a strip of bare skin. Dean found his eyes lingering on that skin, as much as he tried to look away. He suddenly felt Cas' hand press against his. He brought his eyes up to meet the angel's, just as their fingers twined together.

Dean had never seen Cas look so scared.

He squeezed the angel's hand reassuringly, to let Castiel know that he was there for him. "I'm not suggesting we do anything," Dean whispered, then paused before continuing. "Only if you want to, I mean."

Cas' lips parted slightly as he stared up at Dean, and Dean felt his heart skip a beat.

"Listen, Cas," he said, "I know we'll have to have this talk eventually, so I'm just gonna put it out there. I've been with a lot of people, men and women, and I've done pretty much everything. But you… you haven't. So whatever you want to do, how far you want to go, it's your choice. I just want you to understand that I'm never going to pressure you. Okay?"

Cas swallowed and nodded carefully. "Yes. I understand."

"Hey." Dean reached over to run his fingers lightly over Castiel's rough cheek. "You're in charge here." Sighing, he shifted to lay his head on Cas' chest. He realized it would take a lot of convincing to get anywhere with the angel, but for once in his life, he didn't care. He had never been so happy just to lay down with someone and feel them next to him. He hadn't exactly thought this through before getting into it, but there was no doubt in his mind that he had wanted to for a very long time. Cas was something different for him and more than anything, Dean just wanted to enjoy something without overthinking it.

He didn't care how long it took to get into Cas' pants, or if it ever happened. He was was happy, right in that moment, cuddled up to Cas with their fingers entwined.


	6. Focus Question

Castiel woke up first the next morning. Sometime during the night, His arm had ended up around Dean, holding him tight. Their legs were entwined, the bed a tangle of limbs, blankets, and his trenchcoat.

He looked down at Dean, trying not to move. He didn't want to wake the man up. Dean's light hair was tussled, and the early morning moonlight streaming through the window lit up every single strand.

Cas still felt a bit breathless, despite having just woken up. He had always sensed there was more to his relationship with Dean than a simple platonic friendship, and to a certain degree he had always wanted there to be more. But he was scared beyond belief just to be laying in the same bed with Dean, pressed together with him.

What scared him most wasn't the idea of a relationship or the physical aspect of it (although he had to admit that it was going a bit outside of his comfort zone). What scared him was that he was already so emotionally invested in this beautiful man, and he didn't want to mess anything up. He didn't know how patient Dean would be, how long he would be willing to wait for intercourse.

His hand was still entwined with Dean's and looking down, he had a sudden image of that hand running over his hair, his face, his neck, his chest….

"Stop," Cas whispered, "Stop thinking like that."

"What?" Dean had begun to wake up, rubbing his eyes with his free hand and groaning slightly as he looked around. When his eyes fell on Cas, he grinned. "Morning sunshine."

"Since when were you a morning person?" Cas asked stiffly. He was nervous, and he wasn't entirely sure how to act. Should this be awkward? Had anything from the previous night really mattered?

"Since I spent the night with you," Dean replied, then winced. "Shit, that sounded so much less sappy in my head."

"It's okay, Dean." Cas wanted to reassure him, somehow, let him know that what had happened was a good thing. _You're in charge here,_ Dean had said.

Suddenly, Cas looked down at the bright green eyes gazing expectantly up at him, and he knew what he wanted.

"Dean," he began, licking his lips, "Will you kiss me?"

Dean's own lips parted in surprise. "Yeah, sure," he answered, trying not to sound too excited, "Whatever you want, Cas."

He lifted himself up so that he was propped up over Cas, their eyes level and their faces just inches apart. Cas had a hard time concentrating on Dean's eyes; he kept staring at his lips. Dean leaned down so that they were nearly touching, and Cas could feel the heat from Dean's mouth. The tension between them was driving him crazy.

Cas couldn't hold it together any longer. He reached up and grabbed the collar of Dean's coat, bringing Dean crashing down on top of him. Their lips were both closed when they met, but Cas coaxed Dean's mouth open with his own, feeling his lips soften as they relaxed into each other.

Their bodies seemed to melt together as their tongues explored each other's lips and mouths. They were tentative at first: tongues darting, lips soft and moving, parting, releasing the tension. Dean would pull back every couple minutes, withdrawing just out of Castiel's reach, mouth parted and so close that Cas could nearly taste him. He would tilt his head, letting Cas feel his movement without actually touching him, and he would tease Cas senseless, pinning his wrists down on the bed. Then he would lean forward, slowly, and let his lips melt into Cas', running his tongue along the inside of Cas' teeth and deep into his mouth.

It was so nice, so simple, and so fucking hot. Cas felt himself get hard beneath Dean, a sensation which was fairly new for him. Dean chuckled slightly. "I can feel that," he whispered in Castiel's ear, his hot breath tickling Cas' neck and sending chills down his spine. He kissed the soft skin behind Cas' ear and worked his way down his jawline, neck, collarbone. He nipped softly at the tender skin at the base of Cas' neck, and Cas felt a tremor run through his body.

"Hold on," he said quietly, and the words seemed to catch in his throat. Dean kept kissing him, working his way down. "Dean, stop."

Dean halted, looking up at Cas with a concerned expression. "What?" he asked, "What did I do?"

Cas swallowed, because part of him wanted Dean to continue, wanted it so badly. But a greater part of him was too scared. "I'm sorry. Nothing. I need time to think, Dean. I don't want to go too fast with this. You know I've never-" His words caught and he stopped. Dean knew what he'd never done.

Dean pulled himself back up and pressed his forehead to Cas', closing his eyes. "Yeah, Cas. I know. It's cool."

"I am truly sorry."

"Cas, it's fine. It's probably good. It's after six anyway. We should probably check on Sammy and get going." Dean pulled away, and Cas felt the warmth leave him with a sigh. He knew Dean was right, but part of him wanted to stay tangled up in that bed with him forever.


	7. Materials

The radio station was old, dingy, and dimly lit. It was located in an old ranch house with peeling floral wallpaper and deep red carpeting. Dean, Sam, and Cas were led by a normal-seeming woman through a dark office with shades blocking out all sunlight. "Now, we don't normally let visitors in during recording hours," she told them, bustling along in a short brown dress. "But what don't get many out-of-towners so Cecil was pretty excited to meet you."

She reached a metal door and turned abruptly, facing them with her hands folded in front of her. "I'm going to let you in, but don't say a word until he addresses you. Capiche?" They all nodded, not speaking. "Good." She swung open the door and the boys crossed the threshold into a nearly empty room.

In the center of the room was a small table with a mike on top of it. As far as they could tell, the mike wasn't connected to anything, and there was no other recording equipment in the room. Seated at the table was a tall, thin man with coiffed white hair streaked with purple. He wore pinstriped pants and a button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, a bright purple vest thrown on over it. Strange tattoos swirled out from his neck and down his arms, tentacles and symbols that they didn't recognize. Sam thought the man was attractive in an unconventional way, but immediately dismissed the thought. They had work to do.

At the opposite end of the room was a door labeled "Station Management." There was a fogged-glass window set into the door, crossed with wires like a door in a schoolroom. There were lights sporadically flickering on and off on the other side of the door, and Sam felt a chill run down his spine. The room itself was darkly lit, its only illumination coming from a dim lamp set on the table.

"Don't forget to cast your votes for mayor this thursday!" Cecil was saying into the mike, "I personally am voting for Hiram McDaniels, the five-headed dragon who recently funded a blood drive at the high school. The blood has yet to be delivered to the local hospital, but McDaniels assures us that his people are still filling out the paperwork and it will be delivered shortly."

His eyes fell on the three men standing before him, and Sam felt his breath catch as he caught sight of Cecil's eyes. They were completely white, with no irises or pupils, and seemed to emit a faint glow.

Cecil grinned slowly, his lips pulling apart to reveal a set of perfect, white teeth. "Listeners, we have a few visitors in the studio today. I hear these lovely men are from out of town. Don't worry, as long you're not from Desert Bluffs we don't care where you're from!" He laughed wholeheartedly and beckoned the boys forward.

Sam caught Dean and Cas exchange a glance out of the corner of his eye, but he was fixated on the mysterious radio announcer. Cecil caught his gaze and smiled slyly, then crooked one finger and beckoned Sam to him seductively. Sam stepped forward, feeling himself drawn toward the table.

He felt a burst of hot air as he stepped up to the table, and he was faintly aware of Dean calling his name, but it was as if he had stepped into a trance. He kept his eyes fixed on Cecil's crooked smile and long eyelashes.

"Listeners," he breathed quietly into the mike, the sound echoing around the empty studio, "Standing before me is a truly magnificent specimen of man. Tall, fit, nice hair… I mean, nothing compared to Carlos', but still… listeners, I know this man is not from around here, because I would have seen him before. Why don't you introduce yourself, sweetheart?"

Sam slowly became aware of the fact that Cecil was holding the mike up to Sam's mouth, waiting for him to speak into it. "Um, I'm Sam," he stammered.

"Where are you from, Sam?" Cecil whispered, casting him a flirtatious look through his long, white eyelashes.

"From - uh, from nowhere. We're travellers."

"And what brings you to Night Vale?"

"Well, this place isn't exactly normal." Sam gave a nervous laugh at Cecil's frown. "I mean, you have dragons and invisible corn and a sentient computer… that sort of stuff doesn't really happen in the rest of the world. At least, not that you'd notice."

Cecil gave a short laugh and withdrew the mike. "Ah, Sam, we'd better get you to a doctor. I think you've been spending a little too much time talking to Steve Carlsberg!"

Sam snapped out of his trance long enough to cast a confused look back at Dean, whose expression clearly read "what the fuck."

Sam turned back just in time to hear Cecil say, "And now, listeners… the weather." Eerie music began to pipe through the studio, its origins unknown, as Cecil set the mike down carefully and stood up.

He crossed the floor and put one hand lightly on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, I think we need to take a walk." Cecil turned around to look at Cas and Dean for the first time. "Boys, you'll have to excuse us. We'll be back in just a few moments."

He led Sam back through the external office and into a cramped records room. It was hot and stuffy and there were folders and papers strewn about every surface. Two of the walls were covered in filing cabinets and the other had a table pushed against it. It left very little standing room for the two men, and Sam found himself hip-to-hip with the radio announcer.

Cecil reached up and ran his fingers through Sam's hair, making him jump in surprise. Cecil's movements were leisurely, his smile lazy and seductive. He had Sammy on the end of a hook.

"Sam Sam Sam," he breathed, "You are a spectacular piece of work. I'd thought I'd seen the prettiest Winchester when Henry came here in '55, then when John rolled in here a few years back….. but now here you are to reset the record."

"Wait, what?" Sam drew back, throwing Cecil a startled look. "Henry and my dad were both here? You knew them?"

"Mmm, yes," Cecil purred, moving forward again to wrap his arms around Sam's neck, "But I won't tell you any more than that until you give me a little sugar." He stood on his toes, nearly nose-to-nose with Sam.

Sam swallowed nervously. "I thought you were seeing that guy. Carlos."

Cecil clicked his tongue impatiently. "Not exclusively." He finally caught Sam's lips with his own, pressed them together lightly. "I'm gonna need a little more conviction than that, Mr. Winchester."

Sam growled, low in his throat. He couldn't deny Cecil's magnetic attraction, and it had been so long since he had let loose. He gathered the smaller man up in his arms and came down hard on his mouth, slipping his tongue out to explore the announcer's mouth. He tasted like peppermint.

Sam was backed up against the table, but he quickly changed positions, pushing Cecil back so that he was half-laying on the table, his legs dangling off. Sam buried his face in Cecil's neck, planting kisses along his sharp jawline. Cecil's legs were wrapped around one of Sam's, his thigh pressed into Sam's groin.

Cecil tugged at Sam's flannel shirt. "Let's get this off of you, shall we?" he breathed, his lips breathing hot air into Sam's ear. Sam swooped down for another kiss, sucking on Cecil's bottom lip as the announcer began to deftly undo the buttons on Sam's shirt.

Sam was faintly aware that he was making low pleasured noises in the back of his throat, but he didn't care. He practically tore open Cecil's vest and shirt, pressing kisses from the base of Cecil's neck all the way down to his belt.

"You're being too gentle, Sam," Cecil murmured, "Just take off my pants already."

Sam withdrew to look at Cecil. He was flushed and breathing hard, his hair messy and the desk beneath him scattered with documents. He put his hands on Cecil's sharp hipbones, running them slowing under the smaller man's thighs and lifting his legs up onto the table, rotating him so that he was stretched out on his back.

Cecil grinned. "I'm not sure what you're doing, but I like it." Sam ignored his comment, climbing on top of the table to straddle him. It was time to take charge. He had Cecil's pants and underwear off in seconds, and he was pleased to see that Cecil already had a budding erection. His own pants soon followed suit.

He rubbed the head of Cecil's erection, massaging it hard and rubbing the precum into his foreskin. Cecil groaned with pleasure, a low, guttural sound. "I don't suppose there's any chance you have lube?" Sam asked.

Cecil grinned. "Don't worry about it, Sam. That's my special power." He propped himself up on his elbows and grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, pulling him down to whisper in his ear, "I'm always ready." He reached down and ran one long finger down Sam's dick, tapping the end of it thoughtfully, then sliding his hand around it and giving it several quick pumps. Sam moaned, feeling himself get hard.

"Put it in, Sam. Don't you even fucking hesitate. I have to get back to work, after all."

"Yeah, shouldn't you be…?"

"Don't worry," Cecil replied, laying back and stretching his arms above his head to grasp the edge of the table, "Dana will take care of everything while I'm gone."

Sam reached underneath the radio announcer and pressed two fingers into Cecil's opening. Cecil was right, it was dripping wet and slippery. He slid his fingers back out and adjusted himself slightly to rub his dick along Cecil's crack, nudging the announcer's prostate.

Cecil had his mouth open now, and was moaning slightly, his eyes closed in pleasure. Sam noticed Cecil's hands tightening their grip on the edge of the table as Sam pressed the tip of his erection against Cecil's hole, slowly beginning to slide it inside the tight ring of muscle.

"Don't hesitate," Cecil panted, his eyes still closed. "Fuck, just do it."

So Sam did it. He was moaning after only a few thrusts. Cecil was so tight and so hot and it was so, so good. Cecil reciprocated Sam's moans, and Sam reached down to grip Cecil's erection, pumping it as Cecil's groans grew louder. Finally Cecil came with a scream all over Sam's stomach and chest.

"Come on Sam," he growled, "Fuck me like you mean it." Sam deepened his thrusts, harder and harder until finally….

He shuddered, his forehead pressed against Cecil's shoulder, as he emptied himself into Cecil. Cecil ran his fingers through Sam's hair, kissing the top of his head as Sam fell still.

"Better than your father," he murmured, "Almost as good as Henry."

Sam drew back, swallowing and grinning down at Cecil's white eyes. "Almost?"

Cecil cocked an eyebrow. "He brought enchanted handcuffs."

Sam groaned as he slid himself out of Cecil. "Not even sure I want to know what those did."

Cecil laughed. "I might still have them if you want to stop by later." He threw Sam a flirtatious wink as they began to pull their clothes back on.

"You serious?"

Cecil's eyes flicked up and down Sam's body, taking him in. "Sure." He handed Sam a slip of paper. "My address. I'll be around." And with that, the radio announcer strode confidently out of the tiny room, looking far more put-together than Sam ever had.


End file.
